


Healing Scars

by TheLightFury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Damn Dursley's, Due to Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Panic, Past Child Abuse, Phobias, Serious Vomiting, Sick Character, Sick Harry, Sick!Harry, Sickfic, Vomiting, of Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury
Summary: Harry Potter didn’t throw up.It was simple really. He just didn’t. No matter how sick he felt. No matter how much his stomach hurt. Or how bad that food actually was. He just didn’t. Why? Because child abuse really fucking sucks, that’s why. But one day, years into his relationship with Draco, Harry came down with a bug. A stomach bug. A vicious one. And he knew, he just knew, that it wasn’t going to go well…I know this sounds gross but... Hear me out, okay? Please? :D I promise there are cuddles! And it ends well!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 42
Kudos: 582





	Healing Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my beta and just wonderful person all around, Etalice! <3

Harry Potter didn’t throw up.

It was simple really. He just didn’t. No matter how sick he felt. No matter how much his stomach hurt. Or how bad that food actually was. He just didn’t. Why? Because child abuse really fucking sucks, that’s why.

Whenever he was ill as a kid—which initially was quite often due to the terrible quality of food he was given—he was forced to clean his own mess whilst being berated, beaten, and then screamed at for hours, until finally he was locked away for days at a time. Simply because his body had the audacity to try and protect itself from poison. And though he managed to ignore or hide a lot of the behavioural tendencies that the Dursley’s tried to instil in him, for some reason, this one always stuck—there was just something too traumatising about being forced to inhale your own vomit because your face was being shoved into it whilst being screamed at from every direction.

For years after starting Hogwarts, things had been relatively easy on the sick front: Pepper-Up potion took care of illnesses before they could really take hold, the food was much better, and by then, his immune system was pretty incredible. Even when he started drinking alcohol, he didn't have too much of a problem, always intuitively knowing when to stop to avoid explosive consequences. He was determined to avoid going through  _ that  _ again. 

But nothing could last forever.

One day, years into his relationship with Draco, Harry came down with a bug. A stomach bug. A vicious one. And he knew, he just  _ knew,  _ that it wasn’t going to go well…

Of course. He was right.

*

Draco knew Harry wasn’t feeling well. He’d known it as soon as he’d walked in from work the day before and found his husband curled up on the sofa napping. Harry Potter didn’t nap. But he'd said he just needed some sleep, his temperature wasn’t particularly high, and honestly, the man had had worse, so Draco didn’t really think much of it. So when Harry disappeared from the spot on the sofa that Draco put him in to keep an eye on him and snuggle him back to health, he was surprised. And when he found Harry pale, sweating, taking forced shallow breaths, staring into space whilst leaning against the wall in their bedroom, and trembling, he was caught extremely off-guard. 

“Love?” he asked quietly, edging towards the man—the man who didn’t move his gaze an inch from the spot he was staring at.

“What’s wrong?” Draco crouched opposite him, the urge to reach out and take Harry’s hand pulsing through him almost painfully, yet refraining from doing so. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Harry swallowed slightly.

“Just feel sick,” he uttered unsteadily, a fresh bead of sweat forming over his scar.

“Are you going to be?” Draco asked, thoughts immediately springing to the buckets and basins he could grab for him if needed. 

But Harry just tensed in response, jaw tightening as panic flashed in his eyes.

“Harry?” Draco asked quietly after a minute, wishing he could kiss away the pain and smooth his hair back, just like his man loved. Still, he kept his distance, watching every shallow breath, every flicker of emotion running over his husband's face, waiting for him to be ready.

“I can’t throw up,” he whispered weakly a few minutes later, eyes, unmoving from the spot on the wall, flooding with panic.

"That's okay," Draco murmured after a pause, shoving the word 'why' off of his tongue—he didn’t need to know. It had always been their rule when building their relationship slowly after the war; they’d each tell the other their secrets when they were ready, not before. But after so long of secrets being shared easily, freely, Draco was out of practice. Still, after just a few more shaky inhales, Harry broke the silence.

“My—my relatives,” he started, immediately sending dread coursing through Draco. Harry had told him about the Dursley’s overtime. He knew that his childhood was awful. That his relatives deserved to be down on their knees begging for forgiveness. Even that occasionally Harry’s nightmares weren’t about the war, but about a cupboard. But he’s always known that he didn’t know everything. Judging by how shaken Harry was right then, and always had been whenever he spoke about them, Draco was almost glad he didn’t.

With a slow swallow and a slight readjustment, sitting on the floor beside his husband, Draco nodded once silently, encouraging Harry when he was ready— _ if  _ he was ready—to carry on. He didn’t really need it—just the mention of the horrible muggles Harry  _ insisted  _ on calling his family was enough to make him understand. But, carry on he did.

Voice shaking, Harry told him every detail he could remember, regularly interrupting himself to swallow, or grimace, or just breathe when a particular lurch of his stomach threatened his control. Each time he paused, Draco’s fingers practically jumped to his husband’s hands, desperate to hold them, squeeze them, or just ground him and reassure him that it was over now. He was safe. But still, he waited. He listened. Silently cursing the muggles. Noiselessly begging Merlin, Morgana and any other deity possible to bring their worst fears upon them. Soundlessly he waited, letting Harry come to him. 

“I’ve managed not to throw up before but… Nnnn,” his man broke off into a moan, visibly tensing as another wave of nausea hit him. 

“Shh,” Draco murmured, finally unable to resist squeezing Harry’s hand. Immediately the Gryffindor clutched at him with all he had. And though he held on firmly, reassuring Harry that he was there, Draco couldn’t help but wince at the cold clinging to his husband’s fingers; Harry  _ always  _ ran hot.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous, you deserve so much better,” he whispered, running his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “And I know you won’t believe this right now, but you’re allowed to throw up, in fact it’s better if you do, you won’t feel so awf—”

“—But I don’t want to be sick,” Harry protested, interrupting him weakly as tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t wanna remember all of it, and go through it, I just want to feel better…”

“I know, love, I know,” Draco murmured, bringing Harry’s hand to his lips to kiss it softly. “I wish you didn’t have to, believe me... But the fact that you’re up here means you think you need to, and… Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry… I’m here though, gorgeous… We can do this together…”

But no self-respecting Gryffindor, especially not Harry Potter, would bow to the will of a virus simply because it told him to; as Draco’s stomach tightened uncomfortably, his husband gave another whimper, letting his eyes fall shut, before setting his jaw as best he could, fighting the nausea every step of the way. 

Sweat trickled from his hairline to his eyebrows, pants escaped him, more and more grimaces and pained expressions fought their way onto his lover’s face, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, Draco watched as Harry’s skin turned steadily greener as his control wavered against the belligerent virus’ battle.

“ _ Ngghh…  _ Draco…” Harry mewled, shivering as panic once again gripped him.

“It’s alright,” Draco soothed, desperately wishing he could take his husband’s place as he reached for his wand. “You’re allowed to lose the fight once in a while… You’ll still always win the war,” he kissed Harry’s hand again, earning a pained grimace that was almost certainly meant to be a rueful smile.

“Just keep breathing, love. You can do this. I’m going to summon a bowl or something…”

“I’m scar—” Harry began, a guttural sound cutting him off.

“Shh, it’s okay, gorgeous,” Draco quickly muttered a conjuring charm for a bucket and placed it between Harry’s legs. “I’m here, we can do this.”

Even as his breathing became more erratic, stray coughs and hiccups puncturing so frequently they were the norm, Harry continued to fight, hand gripping Draco’s so tightly he thought his fingers might break.

“Dra...?” he croaked again, choking back heaves. 

“It’s okay, love,” he whispered, squeezing his hand once more. “You can let go, it will be okay…”

“Promise?” he gasped.

“Promise.”

Instantly the dam broke; with a final horrendous strangled sound, Harry doubled over the bucket, retching violently. 

“I’ve got you, Harry,” Draco murmured, grimacing at the gasps, shudders, and groans coming from his husband. “Just let it happen, it’s okay.”

“I’m—sorry,” Harry spluttered, gasping for another breath before gagging again as Draco squeezed his shoulder.

“Shh, gorgeous, you never have to apologise for this, not anymore…”

Seconds stretched for years as Harry shook and trembled against Draco, tears streaming down his face as Draco periodically vanished the contents of the bucket. But despite his prayers for it to end, still Harry retched, still he shuddered though nothing was left in his stomach. 

“Almost there, love,” Draco whispered, casting the vanishing spell once more as Harry gave a low, guttural moan. “You’re doing amazingly...”

Finally, with one last whole-body heave, he heard Harry gasp a sigh of relief, his entire being relaxing for just a split second before he began to shake once more, dissolving into sobs against him.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he cried, crumpling in on himself, sliding down Draco’s side before he could stop him. 

“Shhh, Harry… Come ’ere,” he uttered quietly, quickly vanishing the bucket before wrapping his arms around his husband and gently sitting him up against him once more. 

“Easy, darling, I’ve got you, you’re safe, you’re loved, I’m not leaving you, I promise,” he whispered, repeating the words Harry had whispered to him all those years ago, back when they were first learning how best to calm each other down after nightmares, or being triggered. 

“Trust me,” he murmured, “I love you, no-one’s going to hurt you anymore… I’m just going to clean your mouth, okay?”

As Harry sobbed, Draco gently wiped his husband’s lips with a flannel he’d summoned, then made sure there was a glass of water available should he want it, before finally squeezing his distraught lover close.

“It’s okay, Harry…” he whispered as his husband shook against his chest. “It’s okay gorgeous, you’re safe… You’re loved… You’re home… I’m not leaving you… I promise…”

Slowly, as Draco murmured the words in Harry’s ear over and over, squeezing him and running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair, the shudders became less violent, the hiccups less frequent, and the cries softened to sniffles. Gently, Draco kissed his lover’s damp temple.

“Listen to me, Harry James Potter,” Draco murmured quietly in his lover’s ear as he shivered once again against him. “I love you, you hear me? I love you, just as you are. That means I love you when you’re dressed up in your made to measure suit that cups your arse perfectly, I love you bollock naked cooking in the kitchen, despite what I say about food hygiene, and I love you vomiting everywhere like a blast-ended skrewt on a mission to kill everything in sight,” Harry hiccupped a strangled laugh. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, not with me. And you certainly don’t have to apologise, gorgeous. You know they’re the ones that need to do that. Just breathe, sweetheart... And if you want a drink there’s one here…”

As Draco squeezed his husband again, pressing more kisses to his temple, hands appeared in his clothes, nails curling into them tentatively, but firmly, as Harry continued to shake against him. And if Draco was almost overcome by the urge to squeeze the saviour of the wizarding world into oblivion just to try and get him to understand how precious he really was, well, there was nothing wrong with that. 

A small puff of air on his neck caught his attention.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered between sniffles, tucking his head more firmly under Draco’s chin.

“You don’t have to thank me, you twit,” he replied, nuzzling Harry’s hair all the same. “You should know that by now...”

“I do,” Harry insisted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to…”

Draco sighed lightly. 

“Insufferable righteous Gryffindor…” he scolded, smiling as he caught a twitch at the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Fine. You’re welcome, I guess…” he sighed again, earning another mouth twitch. “Wanna go snuggle on the sofa again?” A small, exhausted nod into his shoulder was all the reply he needed.

“Good. Me too.”

Gently lifting his husband into his arms and carrying him downstairs, Draco was unsurprised to find that the man had all but fallen asleep in his arms on the short journey. Settling him softly on their sofa, wrapping blankets around him, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how it was that even pasty-faced and sweating buckets, his husband was just so gorgeous? Surely it was impossible to be so handsome! But, somehow, he was, and once more, Draco thanked the gods for the good fortune to ever end up with this man. In sickness and in health.

Carefully slotting himself in next to his man, Draco switched the TV on quietly in the background, choosing an easy romcom to half-watch while Harry slept. And though, as stomach bugs do demand, Harry woke sometime later, face rapidly turning green as his stomach turned once more, forcing him over several more buckets, with Draco by his side, uttering soothing nothings and tenderly kissing his temple, slowly, another scar began to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> To those who read this, THANK YOU! And I hope you weren't too grossed out and enjoyed it! Come say hi to me on Tumblr! @april-thelightfury115! :D Even is it's just to tell me this was gross lmao


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